


Of The Doctor

by aspermoth



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Introspection, Songfic, Time Lord Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspermoth/pseuds/aspermoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Firstly concerning loneliness and long life, the duel curses of the Time Lords, and secondly concerning Amy Pond's favourite food, terrible events, and a deal of Time Lord angst. Only the first chapter is interspersed with lyrics. Spoilers for Ten's run and Eleven's first series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Lonely Angels

**Author's Note:**

> The character death in this chapter is Reinette from "The Girl In The Fireplace".

Too late.

He was _too late_.

The thought was like a hammer blow, a slug to the gut. They were just words – just two little words – but they had so much weight, maybe too much for him to bear, because he just took too long, plain and simple. If he had taken a minute less, or even two seconds less, he could have made it. Maybe. But he hadn't. He'd taken too long and he was too late.

And he'd never even said goodbye.

The letter from Reinette was tucked inside his jacket, the paper pressed against his chest, and he could feel it whenever he moved to manipulate the controls of the TARDIS, steering them through the whirling wilderness of space and time. The only home he has ever known. His hollow sanctuary.

 **_Child of the wilderness,  
Born into emptiness, –_ **

A switch flicked here. A button pressed there. The TARDIS came to a halt, floating still and serene in the midst of the great, black void of space. There was a dark shadow lingering over his thoughts, a mental shade, a cloud of grief, and of _guilt_. He failed her. He fails them all, in the end. They weaken, sicken, decay, die, and what does he do in their hour of need? He abandons them.

Like Sarah Jane Smith. Like Adric. Like Reinette.

It was alright for him, alright for the Doctor. He lived on, regenerating, near eternal and they die. They _die_. And in the end, he stands alone.

 **_– Learn to be lonely;  
Learn to find your way in darkness. –_ **

Maybe there would always be people willing to travel with him. Willing to care about him. Willing to be the next Sarah Jane or Adric or Rose. But it makes no difference in the long run. They all die in the end, flickering in and out of his life like mayflies, leaving him alone again to wander the endless breadths and depths of space and time.

 **_– Who will be there for you?  
Comfort and care for you? –_ **

Yes, they all die in the end, crumble and die and he alone endures. Sarah Jane abandoned and ageing; Adric killed by a crashed space ship; The Time Lords gone; Reinette disappointed on her death bed after six years of waiting for him. Even Rose was gone for the time being, showing Mickey around some of the more interesting rooms in the TARDIS.

He had felt lonely before. Of course he had. But it had never seemed to hit this hard or hurt this much. Then again, he hadn't been the last before. And now he was.

 **_– Learn to be lonely.  
Learn to be your one companion. –_ **

He wouldn't be surprised if Rose asked to go. Why wouldn't she, after she'd seen the way he'd treated Sarah Jane and Reinette? And what proof did he have that she even liked his new self? That she hadn't run off screaming? Well admittedly, in a choice between him and Jackie Tyler...

Not the point.

Sometimes, he wished he'd given up on all this human companions nonsense and just stuck with building another version of K9. At least the robot dog never aged or died or got possessed by Cassandra and tried to snog his face off.

On the other hand, robot dogs do not make for good hugs. Ugh, this was a _mess_.

 **_– Ever dreamed, out in the world,  
There are arms to hold you? –_ **

Maybe he should just give it all up. Take Rose and Mickey home before something unspeakable happened to _them_ , too, and just be alone. Maybe that's how it's meant to be. Just him.

Alone.

 **_– You've always known:  
Your heart is on its own. –_ **

Reinette had called him a lonely angel. She'd gotten that half right. He was no angel, but lonely? No question. She had seen into his mind, into his past, into everything, as he had looked into hers and she knew him. The lonely child of the wilderness of time and space; the survivor of over nine hundred years; mentor of countless companions who'd faded and fallen like autumn leaves.

And all that was ahead was more of the same.

It was so over-the-top that it would almost be hilarious if it were happening to somebody else.

 **_– So laugh in your loneliness,  
Child of the wilderness. –_ **

Footsteps from behind. He glanced over his shoulder to see Rose standing there, without Mickey. Goodness only knew where Mickey was; personally, he didn't really want to think about it.

Rose walked up to join him at his side, smiling a slightly too wide nervous smile, as though unsure of how he is and how he might react.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "I know I already asked, but-"

"I'm fine," he replied, voice terse, turning back to the controls. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He felt her hand on his arm and glanced down at it before looking up into her face. The smile is gone: her expression is serious, maybe even worried.

"I just want to make sure that you're okay."

He flashed a brief, unconvincing smile. "I'm fine."

He should keep her at arm's length, not let her get any closer than was necessary, otherwise it would just hurt them both. And he could love a lonely life, right? Just him and maybe a robot dog.

 **_– Learn to be lonely.  
Learn how to love life that is lived alone. –_ **

Rose smiled again; her usual, cheerful, confident smile; and, apparently satisfied, planted her hands on the console and leant forward on her arms. He could feel her shoulder touch him, and the spot on his arm where they connected felt as tender as a bruise.

"So," she said, "where are we going, then?"

"Where do you _want_ to go?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe we should ask Mickey, eh? What with him being the new boy and all."

"Where did you leave him, anyway?"

"Swimming pool. It's always the swimming pool, isn't it?"

"Right after 'It's bigger on the inside'."

It was casual conversation. Their usual pointless banter. But somehow, it still managed to make him feel... better.

What the hell was he thinking? Leave Rose and Mickey behind? He must have gone mad.

 **_– Learn to be lonely.  
Life can be lived, life can be loved, –_ **

The Doctor alone, with no Rose Tyler? Ridiculous.

 **_– Alone._ **

Rose was looking at him again, forehead creased with concern.

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

"I'm fine," the Doctor replied.

And this time, he meant it.


	2. Of Introspection and Ice-Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The character death in this chapter is Rory.

Amy tried to like fish-custard; honestly she did. She quite lost track of how many times she crept downstairs at night to quietly cook up some fish fingers and choke them down slathered in cheap, cold custard. All so she could feel closer to Him – to her raggedy Doctor. But no matter how many times she ate it and how hard she tried to like it, fish-custard just made her gag. She stopped trying after eating it actually made her throw up one night, and switched to the food she had been snacking on that night: vanilla ice-cream. Right out of the tub.

It had been her favourite food ever since. All it took was the smallest piece, the most tiny scrap, the slightest sweet, ice-cold morsel melting its way across her tongue to take her back to that conversation on that night in that kitchen with that mad man from the blue box, so shortly before he went away and so long before he came back again.

And now, depending on how you looked it, it had been either forty minutes or – what, about a month? It was hard to keep track – since she'd last had a bowl, and, she decided, she missed it.

She'd been contemplating this issue for the past half an hour or so, a half-hour they'd spent floating around in a vortex somewhere. The Doctor did that, sometimes; he'd set them adrift to float around in a vortex of space and time, just staring out over it, like a tourist at the top of the Eiffel Tower looking over the entirety of Paris: able to go anywhere and everywhere but at a loss as to what to do next. The first few times, the scope and wonder of it had kept Amy enthralled too, but before too long, she found it got boring very quickly.

Usually, though, she just waited for the Doctor to snap out of it, no matter how boring it was, and usually, she ended up watching him instead.

The Doctor was sitting in one corner of the doorway of the TARDIS, his head leant against the door frame and a distant expression on his face. Staring. Just staring out into the ever-shifting, ever-changing colours of the vortex, the colours that made Amy's eyes ache. Neither of them had said a word in what felt like forever and the silence was almost like a living thing, like a dark, sinister creature with grasping tentacles wrapping around her throat.

But no. Enough was enough. She'd had enough of sitting around, watching the Doctor watch the vortex. She was standing in a ship that could travel through space and time, was bigger on the inside than on the outside, and had a _swimming pool_. If the Doctor wanted to mope, he could go ahead; but she was going to find that pool if it was the last thing she did.

"Well!" she said, getting to her feet. "Not that this isn't fascinating, but if we're not going to Rio, then I'm going to find that swimming pool you promised me."

No response. Not entirely unexpected, but a little disquieting, nevertheless. He'd been like this since they'd left Wales and she had no idea what was wrong with him and even less of an idea how she could help.

"Doctor?"

Still nothing. She walked over to the door and tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Doctor!"

To his credit, he didn't jump at the unexpected contact: he just turned his head, looked up at her, and gave her a sad little smile. "Hmm?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." A pause. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Amy frowned. There was something wrong; something was off, but she didn't know what. But if the Doctor didn't want to tell her what it was, she couldn't make him. He'd tell her eventually: he always did. Until then, Amy just had to leave him to it.

"I'm going to go have a look around," she announced. "Find that swimming pool, eh?"

"Yeah." He gave her a genuine smile, the one that lit up his face and made her heart flutter a little. "Don't get lost."

"As _if_. You know me, brilliant sense of direction. I'll be fine."

–

The Doctor watched Amy walk away and disappear into the labyrinth of rooms and passages beyond the console room before he turned back to the vortex to sit; to watch; to hurt. To sit and watch and hurt in his hearts and his soul and his head and in every inch of the flesh on his bones. He felt like a fresh bruise. No, not a fresh bruise: an old bruise. A deep, old bruise that lingered long after it had overstayed its welcome, throbbing down to the quick.

 _Everybody lives_ , he'd said. But they didn't. Not any more. Two humans stuck in stasis for a thousand years; three Silurians confirmed dead; and Rory.

Oh _Rory_.

There was nothing he could have done to save him. Nothing. He'd done the only thing he could do: just watch as Rory slipped through the cracks and disappeared through the very fabric of time, space and existence. And he tried to save the memory of him, to keep him alive in the mind of one who knew him so well, of one who loved him so much, but in the end, he failed. He _failed_.

Rory was gone. Amy's brilliant, brave, wonderful Rory was gone. And the Doctor was the only one who knew he had ever existed. And worst of all, Amy – his amazing, fairy tale Amelia Pond – had lost half her world and she didn't even know it. Would never know it. And it was all his fault.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Those cracks were wrong. And more than that, they terrified him. Inside that crack, he had found a broken shard of the TARDIS. Whatever happened, he had been there. And the idea that he had caused all this – that he had created those cracks, those things – is almost too much to bear. Like a hammer blow to the face. One that he probably deserved, too.

 _Oh don't start_ that _again, you insipid, self-pitying twit._

He had bigger things to worry about than his hurt feelings, like finding out where those cracks came from, and what caused them, and why they were following Amy, and why the epicentre of this event contained _pieces of his TARDIS_. He and Amy would have to –

Wait. Where was Amy again?

Oh, right, yes, swimming pool.

He should probably go and find her. They needed to get moving, find something interesting, go on adventures. The worlds were turning and time was flowing and he was just sitting here, dithering around and feeling sorry for himself. It was time to get _going_. Keep calm and carry on.

Ah, he remembered that poster. In fact, he seemed to remember that he was the one who'd said that. Two or three faces ago, mind you, but still. It was a good mantra to live by. Keep calm and carry on. There was a catastrophe in space and time that he needed to fix and he was the only one who could do it.

But first, maybe he should do something for Amy. Something... nice. It couldn't make up for what he'd done to her, but it was the least he could do.

–

Amy wasn't sure what she had imagined the swimming pool to be like, but what she had found was nothing like what she had expected. She had thought of the swimming pool in Cardiff that she'd visited once or twice with her aunt, a thing of bright lights and white tiles.

This was different. For one thing, the tiles weren't white: they were a checkerboard of black and deep bronze-gold; and the walls looked like industrial red-brick, interspersed with Grecian-style columns made of brass that occurred every two or three feet. In the centre of each of the four walls was a gigantic brass cog set with small spotlights that glowed softly; the same sort of spotlights could also be found at the bottom of the pool, their gentle glow making the water glimmer. It was quite attractive, in its own way, but it was odd, too, and it felt old. It was a bit like the Doctor, in a lot of ways.

Having found a bikini in the Doctor's extensive wardrobe – why exactly he needed a rather attractive turquoise bikini was a question she was trying very hard to avoid – she'd dived right in; now she was floating on her back, her arms spread and her red hair billowing out around her head like a halo, staring up at the brass ceiling and the glass skylight in the centre that looked out over a dark night sky of stars.

She'd been dreaming of this pool since she was seven years old and now she was here and she _in_ it. Amazing. Almost unbelievable.

She almost felt like she could stay here forever.

But on the other hand, it was getting cold and her fingertips had wrinkled like raisins. Time to get out of the water.

She swam to the edge and hauled herself out, her wet hair clinging to her head and neck. She gathered it in her hands, squeezed some of the water out of it and tossed it back over her shoulder with a flick of her head. That was when she noticed the Doctor. He was standing in the doorway, smiling and holding a large, fluffy tartan towel.

"I thought you might need this."

Amy suddenly felt very aware of the fact that she was standing there in just a bikini in front of the Doctor. She folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow.

"Tartan, eh?"

"Well to be honest, it was the first towel I could find," he admitted, walking across the tiles to join her. "Haven't used the pool in a while, really, I should really get more use out of it. Still want it?"

"Of course – hand it over."

Instead, he wrapped the towel gently around her shoulders. She felt a little fluttering in her belly and tried to ignore it, focussing on the towel instead. Up close, she could see that it had a row of Scottie dogs across its edge. Scottie dogs! Where in space and time he'd managed to pick it up, she had no idea. It was warm, though, and very, very soft. She wrapped it tighter around herself.

"Ooh, it's nice. Where'd you pick this up?"

"I don't actually know. I'm sure it came from... a place... in a time... somewhere."

Amy smiled. "So what now? Off again to new and exciting places?"

"What else?"

"What else, indeed? Where to, gallant captain?"

"Follow me."

He gently took hold of her hand and led her out of the pool room, down a corridor, around a corner, and into something that looked like it had been pulled from a country cottage. A dark wood dining table and chairs stood on a flagstone floor in front of a warm fireplace. The table was set for two: one side had a bowl of custard and a plate of fish fingers; the other, a bowl of vanilla ice cream. Her favourite food.

It was just like old times.

Amy Pond sat down at a kitchen table in a cottage room inside a time-machine-slash-space-ship, wearing nothing but a bikini and a towel, and began to eat ice-cream with an alien who was eating fish-custard. And oddly enough, the only thing that felt strange about it was how normal and right it felt to her. Like she should always be here. Like this was her place.

The first cold, sweet mouthful made her close her eyes, lean back in her chair and moan softly with happiness.

"Ooh, that is _good_. I have missed this."

When she opened her eyes, the Doctor was watching her, a half-eaten fish finger in his hand and a smile on his face. And she looked back, right into his eyes, ice cream on her lips and her tongue, sweet and cold and so delicious.

This was what she wanted right where and when she wanted it. She wanted _this_ , these travels and these excitements and these moments of quiet, calm contentment in between when he could do unexpected things, like surprise her with her favourite food when she was least expecting it, and she wanted _him_. She always had. It was all about the Doctor.

Amy stood up, walked down the table to the Doctor, cupped his face with one hand, and kissed him full on the mouth.

She fully expected him to pull away. After all, the last time she'd tried to kiss him, he'd freaked out. But this time, he try to run. After a few moments of shocked stillness, as though he'd been frozen in time, he slowly, tentatively, started to kiss her back.

Amy could taste the fish-custard in his kiss, but somehow, it was nothing like the fish-custard she'd choked down before. It was so much better: it tasted of the Doctor, too.

Maybe fish-custard could be her favourite after all, as long as the Doctor came with it.


End file.
